


Undone

by Yahtzee



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Angry Sex, Fix-It, Kink Meme, M/M, Rough Sex, Telepathy, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-05
Updated: 2011-10-05
Packaged: 2017-10-24 08:07:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/261020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yahtzee/pseuds/Yahtzee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This began as a short ficlet written for this kink meme prompt: <i>"No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it's not the same river and he's not the same man.' - Heraclitus</i></p><p><i>Post-X3 Charles, instead of transfering his consciousness to the coma guy, finds his mind back in the body of his younger self, right after Shaw's attack on the CIA compound, on their way to the mansion.</i></p><p><i>The thing: Charles' wants to fix what happened with Erik, but he can't bring himself to do it. He knows that this younger Erik can't be held responsible for his future self's actions, but, nonetheless, here is the man who will paralyze him, who will leave him on the beach, who will turn his sister into a merciless killer. Here is the man who will betray him in the worst way possible, by using him as a tool, a weapon, in his quest to kill all the humans.</i></p><p><i>So Charles blows cool and hot towards Erik, and Erik is left wondering where all the UST went and why Charles is suddenly so...emotionally distant, even when they're spending more time together than they used to.</i></p><p>I posted the first part as a chapter in my ficlet collection, but then the second part went beyond the ficlet stage, and so here we are.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Charles

“You’ve been quiet all afternoon.”

Charles can’t even turn around to look at Erik. Of course Erik would come to his room, really their room, because by now Erik’s room at the mansion had become no more than the place where he kept his clothes. This bed, the one Charles is sitting on right now, is the one they share.

It’s not that Charles forgot. He can’t forget one second of his time with Erik, hard though he’s tried the past many years. It’s that he’s spent the entire afternoon overwhelmed by his return to 1962. To memory. To life. He went from the paroxysms of death to coming to in Raven’s arms – young, concerned, caring Raven, wearing the human face he now thinks of as a mask. Alex as a boy – Moira not yet a doctor – his own legs in functioning order – the Everly Brothers on the radio – every bit of it astonishes him with its familiarity and its alienness. There’s no keeping track of it all.

Erik steps inside and shuts the door behind them. Charles still doesn’t turn, though he is acutely aware that Erik is coming closer.

“You’re not angry with me.” Erik’s voice is softer than Charles has heard it in decades. “You always say so when you are. Something else is troubling you, then.”

Angry? What Charles feels toward Erik now goes beyond mere anger. Erik is the man who left him to die at Alkali Lake. The one who saw Charles enslaved by an anti-mutant terrorist and took advantage of that enslavement to try to use Charles to commit an act of genocide. The one …

… the one sitting beside him on the bed now.

Charles finally lifts his face, and the sight of Erik looking at him gently – with love – it nearly breaks him in two.

As tears well in Charles’ eyes, Erik’s expression shifts into alarm. His hands find Charles’ shoulders. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m afraid, my friend.” He speaks in a whisper; the sobs he’s holding back steal his voice. “I’m afraid of what’s to come.”

Erik’s eyes widen, and Charles knows what Erik thinks he must mean. _Yes,_ he wants to say, _the genocide lies ahead, but it’s in your heart – the enemy is in this room, right now, your enemy and mine both, this man you’ll become –_

But Erik says, “You’ve taught me to believe that we can shape the future.” His hand curls around Charles’. “You and I, together.”

For the first time since his astonishing resurrection, it occurs to Charles that because he is really in his own past, he has a chance to change the future. Does he understand what went wrong for him, for Raven, and beyond anything else, for Erik? Can he really undo so much devastation?

He can try. He has to – for both of them, and for all the mutants and all the humans who otherwise will fall in the battles between them.

And still, even now, above all, for Erik. There is no one else he wants to save more. If he can save Erik, he will save the world entire.

Charles kisses Erik fiercely. The depthless anger is still there, simmering beneath the surface – but it’s anger about a crime that hasn’t happened yet, one that he intends to keep from ever happening. So he forces the emotion into the kiss, burning it off the only way he knows how. His tongue forces Erik’s mouth open; his hands grip the side of Erik’s face with such force that it must hurt, and yet Erik doesn’t pull away. Charles’ eyes are shut so tightly that the whole world seems to be red-behind-black.

Erik tries to respond in kind, pushing Charles back against the headboard, but Charles shoves him down on the bed, hard. As Erik stares up at him, startled, Charles says in a low voice, “I need you to give me this.”

Erik’s body relaxes beneath Charles’ grip – a kind of surrender, and trust, that Charles knows Erik would give to no one else. Dear God, he used to be so beautiful.

No. He is so beautiful. This is real. This is now.

Charles lets go of him to tear away his own clothes, as fast as he can. After only a moment’s hesitation, Erik follows suit. That’s fine. He can get himself naked. After that, Charles intends to take over.

And oh, God, Erik’s body – that tapered waist, the lines of muscle across his chest and abdomen and pelvis – just the sight of him has Charles hard in an instant. It’s been decades since Charles could feel this with his body, not just his mind. The pent-up wanting surges into the pent-up fury, blinding and brutal and undeniable.

“Come here.” Charles grasps Erik by the hair, pulling his face down roughly. Erik slides off the bed, onto his knees. Utterly submissive, he lets himself be guided to Charles’ cock, and instantly he opens his mouth, taking Charles in.

The tears threaten to well up again – Charles has missed this so fucking much. Not just Erik, anyone, any feeling like this before his injury muted it. He’s experienced stimulation and orgasm through others these many decades, and that has its own unique sweetness and fire. But nothing compares to his own nerves, his own blood, singing as they respond to the heat and wetness of a willing, eager mouth.

Anyone’s mouth. But this is Erik – that’s what makes this not merely exciting but exhilarating. Nobody has ever compared; nobody ever will.

That knowledge lights the flame of anger within Charles again, and he clutches at the hair right at the back of Erik’s head, holding him fast so that Charles can thrust into his mouth – he wants to get down Erik’s throat, choke him, gag him, make him take it all. And Erik takes it. He wants it. The sound he makes is close to a groan.

 _This is what we were. This is what we_ are.

Charles could come in his mouth right now, but that’s not enough. He pushes Erik back and shudders as he feels the cool air of the room against his cock, still hot and slick from Erik’s spit. His voice so rough even he hardly knows it, Charles says, “Hands and knees.”

Erik doesn’t even climb in the bed, like Charles was expecting; he braces himself right there on the floor at Charles’ feet. His scarred hands are pale against the deep red pattern of the Persian rug. His hard-won muscles outline the span of his shoulders and the tautness of his ass. Erik’s head lowers in total surrender. Anything Charles wants, he’s ready to give. Were they really like this?

Charles needs to prove that they were.

His hand goes to the bedside table and the Vaseline, his muscles remembering the movement before his brain does. Charles isn’t angry enough to do this to Erik without lube or preparation, but he imagines it anyway – the way Erik would tense around him, his hoarse cry of pain. The vision heats his thoughts as he slicks Erik inside, scissoring his fingers, taking care to make sure his fever dream doesn’t come to pass.

The first instant he dares, Charles grabs Erik so hard that his fingers dig into the flesh and the muscle, and he shoves in with one brutal thrust. Erik gasps, almost a shudder, but he doesn’t resist. The sensation makes Charles reel – he’d forgotten how tight this was, how crushing and blazing hot and wonderful. When Charles thrusts again, Erik rocks with it, allowing his whole body to move the way Charles wants.

Charles keeps going, speeds up, takes Erik harder. The slap of their bodies is the only sound in the room except their own ragged breathing, and Charles decides that’s not enough. “Beg me.”

Erik’s response is so low and rough it sends chills down Charles’ spine. “Harder.”

Charles gives him what he asks for. He’s hammering against Erik now, the motion almost too savage to be pleasurable – but the pleasure’s there anyway.

“Please,” Erik whispers. “Touch me.”

Through his lust-maddened haze, Charles can nonetheless sense how desperate Erik is to come – his cock is so hard it hurts. “No.”

“Charles – please – ”

“I said no.” Charles punctuates this with another brutal thrust, one that makes Erik’s knees rock against the carpet until they almost fall to the floor. “Because as soon as I’ve come, you’re going to fuck me, Erik. The second I pull out. You’re going to fuck me even harder than I’m fucking you now. Do you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“I want you to hurt me. I want you to break me.”

“Charles – ”

“God damn you, do it.”

“Yes. I will. I will.”

Erik is his, absolutely his, and that knowledge crushes him in its fist. Charles can’t hold back any longer, and he pushes all the way to the hilt in Erik as he comes in a blinding rush. He doesn’t scream, doesn’t groan; it’s too much for him to make any sound, to do anything but let his head loll back as his eyes screw shut.

Just as his cock throbs its last, Erik pulls away from him – the slickness of Charles’ own come sliding down Erik’s ass, Charles’ thighs – and pushes Charles roughly down. Charles doesn’t even try to get to his knees. If Erik does what he needs to, Charles wouldn’t be able to stay up anyway.

Erik preps him, just as hurriedly but thoroughly as Charles did before. This is another experience Charles hasn’t fully known in decades. Every moment of it is oddly unfamiliar – the way his body resists, muscles clenching instead of relaxing, and yet the movement of Erik’s fingers coaxes him further and further open. The in-and-out slip of it reminds him of so much else he’s been missing. Just when Charles is on the verge of swearing at Erik, telling him enough is enough, Erik’s forearm comes down across his shoulder blades, forcing him hard against the floor.

Then Erik pushes one of his legs further out, opening him up, and shoves inside.

Charles cries out, and it’s pain and pleasure at once but mostly astonishment, because he’s felt this through others, even through Erik, but nothing compares to his own body. His flesh being parted. That hardness ramming up into him, striking him right where it makes him blind and crazed.

Erik knows just what to do. One of his hands fists in Charles’ hair – Christ, he even has hair again, hair for Erik to pull as he keeps Charles’ face against the rug. His body pounds into Charles, every stroke a burn that’s scorching Charles from the inside out. He’s so heavy Charles can hardly breathe, so rough Charles knows he’ll be feeling this for days, but he wants to feel it, it’s been too long since he had this – too long since he had Erik. Charles needs the burn. He wants the scars.

More than anything else, Charles needs to know he can still find it in him to trust Erik – this Erik that was – and he can, he can, because Erik’s taking everything from him and Charles doesn’t even want to fight.

He can’t hold back the tears any longer, and as the first sob racks his body, Erik hesitates – but only for an instant. Then he does just what Charles needs him to do; he thrusts even harder than before. There’s no mercy, no stopping, just Erik taking Charles as hard as he can stand, even harder, and Charles forcing himself to take it.

Finally Erik slams in and groans, a deep, shuddering sound. When he slumps to the ground beside Charles, they’re silent for a moment. Charles relishes every ache and sting of his body, every bruise he’ll have tomorrow.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow he will wake up in 1962. He’ll have to start making decisions about what parts of the future he should attempt to influence – very little, probably, because larger repercussions are harder to know. But Charles intends to fight for Erik with every bit of knowledge he possesses, with all his guile and all his strength. Erik deserves no less.

Erik’s dark eyes find his. Charles can feel the questions waiting there – _Why like this, why today, what made you so angry, what made you so scared_ – but Erik is wise enough to say only, “Better now?”

Charles manages to say, “I hope it will be.”

“Come to bed,” Erik murmurs. “Rest.” He glances up at the unused bed only inches away. “Maybe we could try it there next time?”

Despite everything, Charles manages to smile. “We can do everything differently next time.”


	2. Erik

Erik doesn’t question it too deeply. Charles is angry at the struggle that lies ahead of them – angrier than Erik ever dreamed he was, but no more than he should be. He wanted to work it off through sex. There are worse ways, and now Erik’s whole body is humming with satisfaction. Besides, it was incredible, watching Charles lose control like that; Erik thinks he’s never seen anything more erotic. The soreness he’ll feel tomorrow, inside and out – it’s worth it.

He spoons around Charles, relishing the sting of rug burn against his knees. Charles clutches Erik’s hand around him as if he were hanging onto the strap of a lifejacket.

That fear isn’t gone yet, then.

“You’re okay?” Erik murmurs.

“We’ll be all right.”

Which is not exactly what Erik asked, but this isn’t the time to press. He drops a kiss on the constellation of freckles on Charles’ left shoulder and closes his eyes.

After a long quiet while, Charles whispers, “I’ll love you as long as I live.” It’s not a promise. It’s not an endearment. He says it as if it’s simple fact, as certain and provable as the fact that the Earth orbits the sun. That’s why it moves Erik so deeply – shakes him, in a way he finds he doesn’t mind being shaken.

Charles is the only person in his life he would ever let hurt him. Command him. Or need him.

Even as Erik drifts off, he can tell that Charles remains wide awake, and his face is turned toward the window that faces east toward dawn.

**

Charles is not okay.

He trains differently, for one thing. Charles was always reasonably fit for an academic, but no more than that, and their daybreak runs together across the grounds were mostly an excuse for them to spend time together without the kids. Now, though, Charles pushes himself. He runs as hard as he can – literally, like there’s something chasing him, and once or twice exerts himself so strenuously that he vomits after the run. It’s like he has to find out the absolute limits of what his legs can do. The rest of his body, too – Charles lifts weights, rediscovers his high-school wrestling technique, even does push-ups over his open science books until sweat drips down onto the diagrams of molecular structures.

Erik doesn’t complain about that. He’s long thought Charles needed to take combat training more seriously. Doesn’t mind the new muscles he’s discovering with his hands and tongue every night, either.

But Charles is quiet during those nights. As passionate as their lovemaking is – more than before, which Erik would have thought impossible – there’s the unmistakable sense that Charles is holding something back.

He’s different with the students, too. Charles is gentler with them, and his advice is offered more sparingly. He’s more likely to suggest than to preach, now. Erik notices that he relies on his telepathy less frequently, too – asking questions to which he knows the answers, but obviously seeking to clarify those answers and understand.

“You’re capable of perfecting the serum, I’m sure.” Charles stares down at Hank’s array of test tubes with something less than the unbridled enthusiasm he’s had before; discovery for discovery’s sake seems, weirdly, to have lost its hold on Charles’ mind. “But I question whether it’s the best use of your considerable talents.”

“But Raven and I – we’d look like everybody else.” Hank flushes, like he does when he’s uncertain. And when he’s excited. And when he’s embarrassed. Erik has never known anyone so prone to blushing. “Our mutations would then be purely those most useful to us.” Next to him, Raven shifts her weight from foot to foot, obviously still longing for a human form. How Erik hates seeing that; for his part, he’d give anything for blue skin or scales, for the visible, tangible proof that he isn’t human and never will be.

“Raven already can look like everybody else when she wishes, though of course her natural form is very beautiful.” Charles glances down at Hank’s oversized feet with a gentle smile. “And I’m quite willing to pay for you to visit a cobbler for some custom-made shoes, if those would be more comfortable for you. But Hank – your mind – the things you can accomplish – my God. The ‘blackbird’ plane designs, this work on Sean’s suit: You’re a genius. You can do incredible things for this team. For all mankind. Is this serum where you want to focus so much time?

Hank frowns, self-doubt creeping over his boyish face. “I suppose it’s vanity, concentrating on something merely … cosmetic.”

Charles’ hand closes over Hank’s shoulder. “It’s brilliant genetic work,” he says softly. “Far more than cosmetic. But it’s something you can afford to take your time with. Put it on the back burner. See what real uses it might have later, when you’ve thought things through. For now, so many other things are more important – and we all value you and Raven just as you are.”

After a moment, Hank flushes again, but he smiles as he says, “If you were serious about that pair of bespoke shoes, I gladly accept.”

“Done and done.” Charles grins, and there’s a flash of something there – accomplishment? Relief? – that Erik doesn’t understand.

The soft light dawning in Raven’s eyes is easier to comprehend. Erik always thought Charles was maddeningly dense about dealing with the girl, but maybe his old avoidant methods had their purpose. Because now her expression is dangerously close to hope.

Later that day, Erik seeks Charles out, hoping to have a word with him about Raven. But as he approaches the third-floor landing looking out on the grounds, he sees that Charles isn’t sitting out there alone as usual with his afternoon tea; Raven is taking a seat beside him on one of the whitewashed cast-iron chairs that have been out there for a couple of generations now. They’re silhouetted against a pale gray sky that hints at coming rain. Strands of her blonde hair tangle in the breeze.

“You came,” Charles says softly. “I wasn’t sure you would.”

“Why wouldn’t I drink tea with you?”

“No reason.” He sighs as he pours her a steaming cup and hands it over smoothly on his saucer. Erik becomes acutely aware that he’s spying on them now and should announce himself; instead, he remains just inside the French doors, hidden by one of the potted palms but able to watch them through the dark-green blades. “I wanted us to talk face to face, that’s all.”

Her breath catches so that Erik can tell it even from where he’s hiding. “Oh – okay.”

Charles looks at her intently. “Face to real face.”

Raven hesitates for only a moment before allowing her skin to shimmer back to blue. Her shorter red hair tapers close to her neck, and the fools’-gold glitter of her eyes doesn’t hide her uncertainty.

Charles takes a sip of his tea, obviously choosing his words carefully, before he speaks. “I don’t think I’ve told you enough how much you mean to me.”

She ducks her head, bashful but smiling. “Charles – ”

“Let me finish. You were the one person who made my childhood bearable. The one joy I had, sometimes. When I wonder how I would have made it through without you, I thank God you chose this house to walk into that night.”

Raven takes his hand; Charles allows it. Erik wonders whether Raven’s hope has been in vain, or whether it’s time for him to start feeling jealous. He doesn’t move a muscle.

Charles folds her hand against his chest as he continues, “You’ve grown into a strong, intelligent, determined person – and a very lovely woman. Your real face is as beautiful to me as anyone’s could ever be.” Then he kisses her palm – Erik’s chest tightens – and Charles adds, “But to me, you are my sister. And I think you want something else from our relationship, something I can’t give you.”

Raven breathes out, her disappointment tangible – or is that Erik’s own relief he feels lancing through him? “We’re not brother and sister. You know we aren’t.”

“Not in the flesh. But in the spirit – for me, we are, and that will never change. That doesn’t mean I don’t love you. It means I’ll always love you, no matter what. Please don’t let the way I love you come between us. Please understand it doesn’t mean I think less of you as a human being or as a woman. You are one of the most incredible people I’ll ever know, and I don’t want to lose you.”

A single tear glitters in her golden eye. “I wish things were different. That’s all.”

“I’m sorry. I know how badly it hurts – loving someone you can’t be with the way you want to be.” Charles’ voice cracks. Who is this person Charles loved in vain? He never brought anyone up before. But Erik can see how deeply Charles is moved, how real that pain remains for him. “But you have a brother and a friend for life. I hope it’s better than nothing. And whatever I can do to make this easier for you, I’ll do.”

“Just hold me a minute.”

She reaches out her arms, and Charles folds her in his embrace. The clinch goes on and on, Raven’s breaths coming so deep and fast that she’s obviously fighting tears, and Charles somehow has learned when to shut up and say nothing.

Then his eyes flicker toward Erik. Charles would, of course, have known he was there all along. Feeling both guilty and fairly foolish for trying to eavesdrop on a telepath, Erik removes himself.

When Raven appears for dinner that night, she’s still blue-scaled. The boys exchange looks, but nobody says anything, and Erik makes a point of smiling at her as he pulls out her chair. Although she’s quieter than usual, she smiles often, starting when Charles takes the seat next to her.

After the meal, when they’re walking up the stairs alone, Erik says to Charles, “I think you broke her heart and put it back together again.”

“Would you have done it, if I hadn’t?”

“What kind of question is that?” Erik honestly doesn’t understand.

Charles brings his hand to the side of Erik’s face – right there where the kids could see them, though nobody comes along. “Since you like the view from the landing so much, let’s go out there later.”

Which is how Erik winds up receiving a blowjob under the stars. As Charles’ mouth works him, expertly teasing and sucking, Erik gazes into the Milky Way above and tells himself whatever’s going on with Charles these days has its benefits.

**

Their next trip to CIA headquarters at Langley doesn’t go the way Erik expects.

Moira’s not in on the conference today; instead they’re dealing with one of the blowhards, a man with narrow eyes and smug superiority. In Erik’s mind, it’s easy to replace the man’s blue suit and necktie with a Gestapo uniform. He knows the breed. “You want to take independent action against Shaw. That’s not acceptable.”

“Our actions aren’t yours to accept or deny,” Charles says, which startles Erik considerably. “We don’t work for you. Or has my paycheck simply failed to arrive for the fourth month in a row?”

The would-be Gestapo draws himself up primly. “You said you wanted to serve your country.”

“I do. But there is a difference between being a public servant and merely being a servant. When you attempt to dictate our behavior beyond our missions, you’re thinking of us as the latter, not the former.” The blue light in Charles’ eyes is as sharp as any laser. “We’ve done you the courtesy of informing you of our plans. Do us the courtesy of not interfering. If we take Shaw out on our own time – you can skip the commendations. How’s that for a bargain?”

“The United States government doesn’t _bargain_ with mutants.”

“Mutants aren’t worth your consideration?” Erik grins at the man in a way he knows is more unnerving than any grimace. “You don’t have to keep your word to us? Obviously you’ve never had to face the consequences of a broken promise.” The warning glance he gets from Charles doesn’t keep him from saying the rest: “But you will.”

Gestapo punches an officiously large red switch clearly meant to summon guards into the room. “Obviously we need to reconsider this entire situation.”

Erik rises from his chair, ready to fight his way out; Charles doesn’t move. He smiles and says, “We’ll reconsider.”

The door bursts open as the guards run in – and freeze. So does Gestapo. They stand shock-still, never budging. Erik tenses, unsure what phenomenon this could be. Has Shaw obtained some new device, perfected another power?

But Charles remains very calm. “Come on. Let’s go.”

They walk through the hallways of Langley, where every single person they see remains frozen in place. Papers slowly spill from one woman’s file folder as they walk by, drifting down to the linoleum floor unheeded.

Erik finally manages to say, “You’re doing this.”

“Did you not realize that? Yes.”

“Since when have you been able to – ”

“Long enough.”

“What have you done to them, exactly?”

“Nothing so very terrible. Automatic reflexes are holding true.” Charles pushes open the front door and walks into the blinding rectangle of sunshine without even slowing his steps. “Everyone is blinking, so their eyes won’t be damaged. They continue breathing. Digesting food. Nobody’s going to wet his pants. In about ten minutes, they’ll go on about their business unaware that anything ever happened, though I imagine a couple will wonder how they lost track of time.”

“The man who was questioning us – ”

“Will go back to his desk and write a report about how uncooperative we were, without asking himself precisely how the interview ended.” Charles shoots him a look that can only be considered hostile. “And ‘Gestapo’ is a hell of an insult to throw around, particularly when we’re talking about one petty bureaucrat who’s in a bad temper because he just learned his father has cancer. So hold off on that kind of talk when you can, and don’t threaten people unless and until it’s necessary, God damn it.”

Erik would like to argue. He would like to ask Charles more questions. Instead he fishes the keys out of the pocket of his leather jacket and doesn’t ask Charles whether he’d like to drive.

They ride in silence until they’re well out of the DC area, on probably the most isolated stretch of road between the capital and upstate New York. It’s a long day’s drive, but Erik decides he might as well make it longer. Without taking his eyes from the road, he says, “You’re far more powerful than you ever let on before.”

“Well. We’ve all been working at it, haven’t we?” The way Charles says this, it’s not a denial.

“What else can you do that you haven’t told me?”

“You’ll see when we go after Shaw.” Charles’ voice is tight, as if he’s dreading their encounter with Shaw – this, even though he just fought for their right to do it –

Erik pulls the car so sharply to the side of the road that Charles braces himself against the dash. Gravel scrapes under the tires as they rattle onto the shoulder; Erik shoves the gear into park and grabs the keys into his own fist. “You’ve been different this entire month. Secretive. Angry. Not with anyone else – just with me, and now you have this completely new level to your powers. What the hell is going on? Don’t insult my intelligence by saying that it’s nothing.”

“You keep your own secrets, Erik.”

“This isn’t about me!”

“Isn’t it?”

Charles looks as if he wishes he could take that last back. For one panicked moment, Erik wonders whether Charles really would rape his mind by stealing a memory – is this what it’s like, the moment before erasure? But instead Charles pushes open the heavy door of the car and stalks off across the field beside the highway.

Erik follows him, using his powers to slam both the car doors. The tall grasses here sway back and forth in the winds whipped up by the cars that zoom past them. “Where do you think you’re going?” Erik yells over the roar of engines.

 _Nowhere_ , Charles sensibly replies within Erik’s head. _I need a minute._

 _You don’t get one,_ Erik thinks in what he hopes will be understood as a shout. _Tell me the truth, Charles. What can you do? And why are you hiding it?_

 _I’m not hiding it. You’ll see when you need to see._

Erik loses it and shouts, “I need to see now!”

“You want to see what I’ve seen?” Charles screams it out loud, his voice thick with unshed tears. “Then see it!”

And Charles’ mind opens within his own, filling him up, blotting out almost everything that’s Erik and replacing it with Charles’ truth – a truth beyond imagining.

Erik sees a terrible afternoon on the beach in Cuba, with the joy of Shaw’s death drowned in the misery of his break from Charles, the horror of looking down Charles’ forever-broken body lying limp in the sand.

Through Charles’ eyes, he sees the Brotherhood of Mutants going farther and farther. Righteous vengeance becomes preemptive strikes becomes terrorism. He sees humans and mutants alike dead by his hand.

He sees the Statue of Liberty, and a crying teenage girl whose life he has decided can be sacrificed for his own, even though she is younger than Raven is now. She sobs and begs for mercy. All this she showed to Charles later, so Erik sees himself through her eyes: older, sterner, colder. He shows no mercy.

He sees Cerebro, and Charles in a wheelchair – older too – helpless under the control of a serum used by the kind of human who is Charles’ worst nightmare. This man has turned Charles into his slave. And Erik puts his hand on Charles’ shoulder, and he does not save him. He uses the power of the serum for himself. He enslaves Charles in turn. And he orders Charles to commit a genocide that dwarfs Hitler’s most murderous schemes.

He does this. The same man who lay in Charles’ arms and told him the future was theirs to change. He becomes a monster beyond the monsters who created him. And the billions of deaths he ordered almost seem to pale beside the fact that he tried to force Charles to kill them.

Then he sees nothing.

Slowly the field takes shape around him again. Erik realizes he is staring at Charles, who is staring right back. They are back in the here and now, though enough of Charles’ mind lingers in his for 1962 to feel peculiarly alien for a moment. The cars rush by on the highway; the tall grasses whip and sway around them. Charles’ blue eyes are wide with shock at his own loss of control. Erik can only imagine what his face looks like in return.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” Charles says.

Erik can’t reply.

“I’m sorry.” Charles’ steps are shaking as he jerkily holds up one hand. “Give me the keys. You shouldn’t drive.”

Probably Charles shouldn’t either. But he hands the keys over.

**

Charles pulls into the next city (Baltimore) without discussing the change of plans with Erik. They don’t say a word. It’s not necessary; obviously neither of them is in a state to make the long drive back to upstate New York. When Charles asks for two rooms, Erik thinks the need for them is pretty obvious too. They part at the elevator, and Erik goes to his room without ever looking back.

The next few hours are the longest of his life. He paces back and forth, the length of the bedroom, sometimes bracing his hands against the wall, sometimes crying, sometimes so angry he wants to hurt himself. Mostly, though, he is dazed and bereft.

Charles’ odd mindset makes sense now. He returned from the dead – returned to his own past life, through some psychic talent or phenomenon previously undreamt-of. All this time Charles has been living with Erik, making love to him, training beside him, and yet remembering that Erik would betray him in every way a man can be betrayed.

Genocide. It is the ugliest word imaginable. The ugliest truth. It is what Erik has feared beyond anything else – and yet he is the one who attempts to perpetrate it on the greatest scale of all.

Erik stalks the perimeter of his room like a caged animal. He asks himself what paths he will take in the future. Horrible possibilities take root in his mind, sending tendrils out to curl around and choke every other thought. One possibility in particular comes to dominate his thoughts, more unthinkable than any other –

\--but is it unavoidable? Is this, finally, where his steps must lead? Can he accept that?

He can. He must.

And he owes Charles the truth.

Remembering the room number from check-in, Erik walks to Charles’ door at the hotel and raps. There’s no need to call out; Charles will know. After a long pause, Charles says, “Come in.”

Erik uses his powers to undo the locks. When he walks in, Charles’ room is a shambles. He’s in bed though it’s hardly 3 p.m., undershirt and boxers on, the tailored suit he’s so proud of a crumpled wreck on the floor. Room service apparently brought him a cocktail; the empty glass sits on the bedside table, reeking of scotch. Charles’ hair is rumpled and his eyes are red.

“It’s all true, what you showed me.” This is not exactly a question, but Erik thinks they both need to acknowledge it out loud.

Charles nods. “It is.”

This is the hardest thing Erik has ever had to do. He takes a few steps closer to Charles, and to his horror he sees tears glistening in his eyes again. “Are you reading my thoughts?”

“No. I can tell that you’re – very determined. Filled with resignation. Unspeakably depressed. But nothing’s going to stop you.” Charles’ voice almost chokes on the last word.

“No. Nothing.” At least Charles will know how serious he is about this. Erik fights the nausea welling inside him and meets Charles’ eyes. He makes the promise that breaks his entire world in two: “I will not kill Sebastian Shaw.”

Charles’ eyes go wide. For a long second he can’t speak, and finally he manages to whisper, “Erik?”

“You showed me a future in which I become Sebastian Shaw. Where I become even worse than him. I don’t want that future, and I don’t know how to stop it – but I know it means – changing something, changing everything – and there’s nothing more important to me than killing Shaw. It’s the only thing I can’t imagine giving up. So that’s what I have to give up. If I change this, I change everything.”

He imagines his mother’s face, the way he did all those nights he silently promised her ghost that he would kill Shaw for her. _I’m sorry, Mama. But I won’t be like Shaw. You wouldn’t want that._ Maybe she would understand. Erik will never know.

Not knowing hurts him even more than surrendering his vengeance against Shaw, and Erik crumples to his knees. Instantly Charles is there, his arms around Erik, and for a moment that angers him as much as anything else. He’s not doing this for Charles, and he won’t be _thanked,_ he won’t be petted for it –

\--but that’s not what Charles is doing. Erik realizes that Charles understands how hard this was for him to do, how hard it’s going to be to keep true to that promise, and he’s holding Erik through it. So Erik hangs onto him, breathing hard, trying to bear a pain that’s worse than the physical.

Charles makes it easier to bear.

“You know we’ll stop him, don’t you?” Charles whispers desperately. “Shaw won’t walk free. I swear that to you.”

Erik can only nod against Charles’ shoulder.

Then he remembers that wild night they made such violent love – the night of Charles’ return, he knows now. Erik remembers Charles whispering, _I’ll love you as long as I live._

“How can you still love me?” Erik says in a voice that trembles. “After what I did to you?”

Charles combs his fingers through Erik’s hair as he leans him back, studying his face like he’s never seen it before. “Because I knew you had this in you. The capacity for this promise, this moment. I always knew. And I meant it, Erik – I will always love you.”

Erik drags Charles to him in a long, ragged kiss. He doesn’t know what it means to be loved like that. Doesn’t even know what it could mean. The feeling confines and exhilarates him at once. But he knows as surely as he knows anything else that nothing will tear him and Charles apart again.

After a few moments, Charles pulls him into the bed, and they ease Erik out of his clothing, but they don’t start making love. When Erik is naked, and Charles shucks his underclothes, they curl under the blanket together, Charles covering Erik’s body with his own. They lie there, no barriers between them, trying to trust what they have learned and sworn.

“It’s going to be hard,” Erik whispers. He tries to imagine confronting Shaw and not killing him – it’s almost impossible. Yet he must come up with a way that will sustain him.

“I know. I’ll help you as much as I can.”

“What else do we need to change? Where else did we go wrong?”

“Don’t think about that.” Charles murmurs. “I’ve driven myself half-crazy with it, this past month. If we alter this – Erik, you’re right. This will change everything. After this, the whole future’s been made as new for me as it will be for you.”

Erik likes how that sounds, but he doesn’t yet fully accept it. “There’s nothing else you think I need to know?”

“There is one thing.” Charles props up on one arm, gravely intent, then says, “I’m going to go completely bald.”

Slowly a smile spreads across Erik’s face – like a crack in the darkness that keeps widening to let the light in. “Are you joking?”

“No. I mean, yes, I like seeing you smile, but no, it’s not a lie. I’ll have lost all my hair within the decade. Smooth as an egg.” Charles smiles back at him. “Consider yourself warned.”

Only something so trivial could lift Erik’s spirits at this moment. Charles knows him so well. Erik decides to make it his life’s work to learn Charles in return – to make the one lifetime he’ll know Charles the equal of the two Charles will spend knowing him. “All right. Do I go bald too?”

“No, damn you. You keep this mane of gloriously gray hair – like silver or steel.” As Charles slants his mouth over Erik’s for a kiss, he whispers against his lips, “You stay beautiful to the end.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic of] Undone](https://archiveofourown.org/works/391043) by [Podcath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Podcath/pseuds/Podcath)




End file.
